


Invasive Species

by bruisecore



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, Autistic Character, Depression, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Interconnected Drabbles, Mental Illness, Multi, Self-Worth Issues, Wammy's Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4335344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisecore/pseuds/bruisecore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The children of Wammy's House often find that they can't support the weight of the whole world by themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gardens

**Author's Note:**

> I have a mighty need for Wammy's Era fanfic and I'm having a hard time finding them.
> 
> So I'm gonna dump all my frustration here. 
> 
> Each chapter is going to be vaguely interconnected with the rest, and the chapters will be at least a bit longer than this one. 
> 
> TW for abuse mentions/implications, self harm implications, and vague implications of future suicide.

Wammy’s House sat in a desolate area on the outskirts of Winchester. Flora and fauna threatened to engulf the mansion, looming over its inhabitants. To many, it was a reminder of the anonymity and isolation imposed on them.

At the same time, it was more than that. The wild forest and its ponds held hidden treasures and promised that unwelcome guests would have to face nature’s wrath before they got anywhere near the unusual children of Wammy's House.

 

* * *

 

 

Long before Near and Mello, there was Another and Backup. A lived in the forest inside Wammy's brick walls. They were buried under textbooks and notebooks, hidden behind wooden doors and wooden desks, and their fingers and tears hugged the wooden piano in one of the lesser known common rooms. They let their forest consume them.

Beyond inhabited A’s forest at first. But it was out of fear of closed hands and loud sounds, not out of dedication or interest. When B realized that, he fought his way out of A’s forest kicking and screaming.

He emerged in the backyard. There, he made his garden.

 

* * *

 

On occasion, A would visit B’s garden. Their skin would be torn and bruised, and the numbers above their head screamed at B, threatening to asphyxiate him just as A's grades threatened to asphyxiate them. B would force himself to forget his rivalry with A. He would grab A’s hand and compare them with his favorite invasive species.

Sometimes it sounded like flirting. At least until A started sobbing or B’s voice broke on a one syllable word.

B looked forward to those days almost as much as the ones when L privately video called him. Almost.

****  
  



	2. High Strung, Say X Amount of Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wammy's House is a sanctuary, but that doesn't mean it's a good place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this chapter would be longer but then I kept having anxiety attacks and wrote this really quick to make myself feel better.
> 
> Gotta go back to doing school work now. ;-;
> 
> Chapter title is a line from the song X Amount of Words by Blue October.
> 
> I don't think this chapter really needs any TW's, but just in case - there are mentions of unspecified trauma and breaking under the pressure of school work.

The children of Wammy’s House were nothing if not impressively resilient. During the day, they packed their schedules, attending classes six days a week. Kids often came to class sick, clutching tissue boxes and borderline sloppy homework. Unless you’re delirious, you come to class - it was Unofficial Rule #1.

After all, L didn’t take sick days.

At night, when staff had had enough of them, the kids retreated to their rooms and studied more. They fought off the trauma that creeped in their heads like centipedes, ignored the exhaustion seeping into their bones, refused to acknowledged the dull aches in their wrists from writing for hours without breaks. They refused to stand for anything less than perfection because if they weren’t perfect, what were they?

Useless, broken, wannabes, why are you even here?’s. If you can’t take the heat, don’t throw your body into a fire. If you can’t stand the third degree burns, if you can’t stop, drop, and roll, if you can’t, if you can’t, if you can’t - just leave.   

There’s no space for you here.

But the thing is, even if you can’t do x or you can’t do y, even if the trauma of whatever the fuck happened to you eats you alive, you can’t leave Wammy’s House. Failure or not, this is the only place for people like you.

The world wasn’t created for genii. Kids like you were the sun, and people who stared too long went blind. They resented your intensity and didn’t understand why you act so young if you’re so smart.

So smart, oh, so smart. The s-word is like venom when outsiders say it. It poisons you with unrealistic expectations. It sets you up for failure and there is no anti-venom. Except there is. It’s Wammy’s House. But even Wammy’s fills kids with a poison that makes them rot away.

The question is, which poison is the lesser of two evils?

****  
  



	3. You Think You Haven't Sinned?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linda didn't need bread. She didn't need a table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambiguously worded summaries, amirite?
> 
> Anyway, this is Linda Part 1. The next chapter will probably be Linda Part 2 and the first part of another character's story.
> 
> I can't say that I really have much interest in Linda, but writing this made me realize that I was wrong about her. I'm now certain that I only disliked her because of the ways I've seen her characterized by other writers. She may not be my favorite, but now I'm actually pretty excited to write about her!
> 
> I'm not going to go into detail about why I made her the way I did, but let's just say that I think it was a pretty ballsy move to draw Near and Mello, and I don't think that her decision to do so was a result of poor judgement. She just didn't /care/ about the possible consequences. More info about this at the end of the chapter.
> 
> TW for mentions of insects, Christianity, slightly descriptive suicide (when and how it happened), and parental emotional abuse.

Linda’s family had never been very appreciative of her art. Then again, they had never even been appreciative of her in general.

Linda found that she didn’t hate her parents for the ways they hurt her. In fact, a lot of the time, she thought they had a point. She _was_ good-for-nothing. She - or at least her conception - _had_ been an honest mistake on her parents part. Her parents were right most of the time so she forgave them when they were wrong. Unless it had something to do with art.

They had a family saying: “Art won’t put bread on the table because you won’t even own a table!” She felt like throwing up whenever they said that. It was a reference to her older brother’s suicide.

Like Linda, he used to be an artist. Unlike Linda, he was also a poor, struggling alcoholic who lived in a bad part of Paris. He hung himself in his teeny tiny studio apartment that had no table or food in it. Just roaches and debt and the stench of misery mixed with cheap alcohol.

Linda didn’t think badly of her brother. He’d been talented and hadn’t complained when she surpassed him in skill and creativity. But that wasn’t even the point. She wasn’t upset for her brother. She was upset because they thought she would turn out like him.

Linda wasn’t one to be prideful, but it’s not like she felt a need to practice humility either. She was just better than him. Stronger, less emotional. She did her research. She knew what it meant to work as an artist. Linda had realistic expectations of the future and was working toward it every day.

Until her parents died, of course. It surprised her. She didn’t feel bad for them like she did for her brother when he died. Linda felt comfortably numb except for an occasional twinge of pity for herself and her brother. He had finally escaped their parents, only for them to chase after him less than two years later.

She wondered whether all three of them were in hell or if, on some off chance, God had forgiven her brother for taking his own life. She hoped that was the case. She’d even prayed for it. She didn’t want to be alone in heaven - or worse - with all three of them in hell.

The day of their funeral, she knelt in front of her parents’ grave and prayed to God. She confessed to him all the cruel things they had done to belong in hell. When she was done, she thanked Him and her guardian angel that no family member wanted her. She walked to the grave to the right of her parents' and kissed her brother’s headstone. Linda left the cemetery without looking back. 

Something told her that she wouldn’t be coming back to France for a long, long time.

 ****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote Linda as having low empathy and symptoms of NPD as well as ASPD. I actually didn't realize what I was doing until I was 99% done, and by then I liked this Linda too much to want to change her. 
> 
> By the way, I used my own experiences as a victim of abuse to portray her character like this, so please don't think that I'm just bullshitting on topics like mental illness and abuse.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos, comment, and bookmark. It means so much to me when people take the time to tell me they enjoyed something I wrote. Have a nice day/night!


	4. If You're Not in Pain Now, Just Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Near didn't need words to be understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be about Linda buuuuut I've been thinking about Near a lot lately and I probably wouldn't have written anything today if I forced myself to make this chapter about Linda.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is about Near who is my very precious autistic sheep.

Near liked living in England because it always cold and rainy. Although he couldn’t remember much of his life before Wammy’s House, he sometimes remembered soft, tagless,  t-shirts and flannel blankets. He remembered sitting on window sills, sipping oolong, and reading books with fancy English words in them. His favorites back then were _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ by J.K. Rowling and _1984_ by George Orwell.

 

* * *

 

Near was barely six when he got to Wammy’s. At that point, he’d been completely nonverbal. Words sat on his tongue and knocked around in his brain, but they didn’t work right when he tried speaking. They fled his body, screaming and crying. Some days, it made him feel like crying too.

Most days, however, he didn’t mind it all that much. He owed a lot of his contentment to L. Early into his stay at Wammy’s, L had come in to talk with him. He said Near wasn’t broken, just different. He told him that he didn't have to talk, not if the words didn’t work, not if he didn’t want to.

He told Near a secret: sometimes, L couldn’t speak either.

Near wanted to, though. He didn’t want or need the words to always work right - he just wanted them to work enough so that he could say hi to Matt in the hallway and debate Mello’s ideas during class. He kind of wanted to ask Linda to teach him how to ride a bike.

Near practiced a lot. Eventually he could say “hi” and “hello” and “yes” and “no.” It was enough to get Matt to smile at him and Mello to snarl back why his arguments were, in fact, right, _so shut up or give me proof, Near_. Near liked Matt and Mello. They were odd, but they always understood him.

* * *

 

Near learned to say a lot of different things after that. Most of them were phrases from TV shows and lectures he’d attended, but Near made them his own. Even with all those words, he still chose to avoid speaking unnecessarily; sign language and writing were better than speaking.

* * *

 

Near didn’t hate many things. He had aversions to foods and sounds and textures, but he didn’t really hate them. He just couldn’t help the panic that rose in his chest when confronted with them. Near didn’t hate many things, but what he did hate was trigonometric identities, proofs, and being touched without warning.

After finishing his last required math course at age 8. he decided he was going to become L. Maybe then people would respect his hatred for math and ask before touching him.

* * *

 

Near knew Mello didn’t hate him as a person, but it didn’t make his shouting hurt any less. Near didn’t mean to make Mello upset by being number one. He didn’t want to make Mello upset for any reason. But Mello was competitive, and when Mello was competitive, he was cruel.

Near knew Matt didn’t like that side of Mello either. When he got angry, Matt would run away to Near. Near liked it when Matt spent time with him, so even if it meant that he had choose between class work and Matt, he would choose Matt.

Sometimes, they played video games together. Matt was always coming up with new puzzle and battle strategy games for them to try out, and it made him happy. Laying beside him, giggling at ridiculous plot holes, Near couldn’t help but let his anxieties melt away into the background. Near believed that Matt’s very existence was a blessing.

 

* * *

 

Near wishes that Mello could be his friend. Because as intimidating as he was, Mello could be kind and clever. Sometimes, he thought that maybe Mello wanted to be his friend too.

But Mello was a lot like A and B were when they lived at Wammy’s. His only goal in life was to be noticed by L and it didn’t leave room for much of anything else - not even his relationship with Matt.

As impossible as it sounded, Near just wished that Matt and Mello would consider working with him as the next L.

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically enough, words are a struggle today, so this might be more awkward than past chapters. 
> 
> Next chapter will hopefully be Linda Part 2. Sorry if this update disappointed you.


	5. See You in Hell Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at Wammy's House was freeing and confusing and good. But Linda's problems were like boomerangs - throw them away, and they'll come right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished summer school today, so I'm officially going to be graduating a year early. Very excited about being a senior this year. 
> 
> Title is a line from Roll Me Through The Gates Of Hell by Mischief Brew. 
> 
> TW for religion/Christianity, referenced suicide, subtly referenced parental abuse, self harm. 
> 
> Anyway heeeree's Linda.

Linda arrived at Wammy’s House on a sunny April morning. It was incredibly early, she had a pounding headache, and from what she could tell with her limited English, something had gone wrong with Wammy’s plans to skip the immigration office. They had to sit in a crowded room full of emotional new immigrants for four hours, only to spend another two hours getting fingerprinted and filling out paperwork. It was funny that, no more than an hour after they finally left the airport, all of that paperwork ceased to exist, erasing Linda from existence.

 

* * *

 

As luck would have it, Linda’s arrival at Wammy’s House marked the one month anniversary of A’s death. An older French kid had explained it to her in hushed tones, as if talking about A too loudly would curse her.

It was pure coincidence that she never saw that French kid again, Linda told herself. Coincidence, that she had inherited A's room. Coincidences occurred frequently at Wammy’s House.

It was probably a coincidence that she stumbled upon B’s garden, and that she saw what was carved into the brick hidden behind clumps of Tanacetum vulgare. It was probably a coincidence that it was a tribute to A. It was no doubt a coincidence that she found out A’s real name that day. 

(According to B’s carving, A was only fourteen years old when they hung themselves. It made Linda think of her brother. It made her want to throw up or scream. She settled for punching the wall until her knuckles started bleeding.)

 

* * *

 

Several months after starting her new life at Wammy’s, Linda was pretty damn near fluent in English. She managed to build up some connections with some savvy kids that didn't mind disregarding the rules, and soon enough, she was doing her own thing, taking classes like Statistics and Eastern Literature during the day, doing homework and selling paintings and prints at night, mostly with the help of a kid named Matt. It wasn’t much different from her life in France, except now she had better equipment and didn’t have to hide her sketchbooks under her mattress.

The little changes in life style were actually what she had the most trouble with. Immigrating to England didn't bother her. She didn’t get culture shock or cry out for her family in the middle of the night like some other kids did. Instead, she had trouble with getting used to kind and well meaning adults. She had trouble with keeping herself from lashing out at others for their ignorance and innocent mistakes. She had trouble coming to terms with having competition for the first time in her life.

It made her bitter, but it also made her better. For the first time in her short life, Linda felt motivation vibrating in every pore of her body. It was exciting. It made her _happy_. Nobody was surprised when her rank was revealed to be in the top ten.

Linda didn’t care about the title of L, and she didn’t care when she heard Roger and Wammy complain about her. Wammy’s House gave her freedom and she sure as hell wasn’t going to give it up to become as miserable as A and B. L could go fuck himself, Linda was going to be an artist for the rest of her life. She had a gift, and she was going to share it with the whole world.

 

* * *

 

Linda was twelve when Near arrived at Wammy’s House. He was small for a six year old, and his test scores and non-verbality drove people up the walls. Unlike most people, however, she was grateful to Near. His arrival pushed Matt down to number two. Linda, who had also been pushed down a rank, was back up at her old rank by the end of the week, and Matt was relaxed and happy when he was dragged off to town to mail out Linda's commissioned work on Saturday. He couldn't handle the pressure of being number one, but number two was alright. The spotlight had been taken off of him.

Linda decided to be grateful to Near because Matt was a much more pleasant and useful friend when he wasn’t crying on you.

* * *

 

 

Near, with his quiet nature and his clever ideas, won Linda over in record time. He didn't even having to prove his worth to her. There was something about him that just drew her full attention to him. Linda could still remember the cool summer days she spent sketching with Near next to her, humming and solving the same two puzzles over and over again. His routine and repetition gave her peace.

At one point, after a week or so of learning sign language and forcing himself to speak, Near came to her room and said one word: _bicycle_ , followed by rapid fire signing that Linda just barely understood. _Please teach me?_

For once in her life, Linda found herself dumbfounded. It wasn’t an odd request since Near was just seven years old, but the fact Near avoided unnecessary physical activity made this slightly out of character. After a few seconds of consideration - was entertaining Near worth it? - she decided that she liked Near too much to say no.

For the next two months, Near and Linda took time out of their busy lives to practice the art of not falling off of two wheeled contraptions. Sometimes, it was frustrating. Most days, however, it was very entertaining.

That year, for his birthday, Linda stole a Near-sized bike and painted his favorite Ace Attorney characters on it. The pictures were glossy and clean, and for approximately two weeks, it was Linda's pride and joy. The day Near was given the bicycle marked the only time he would ever hug Linda. It was also the day she realized she was capable of feeling affection. Odd as it was, Linda didn’t hate it.

* * *

Linda’s relationship with Mello was a lot less interesting than the one she had with Near. Mello’s impulsive nature didn’t sit right with her But on occasion, she put those feelings to the side, and the two of them got together to talk shit and study. Linda didn’t like Mello. He worked too hard and complained too much. It was boring. Still, their anger issues complimented each other, and Mello had a beautiful mind. She was willing to listen to him rant if it meant she could use him as a muse. Besides, he was Matt’s only other friend besides Near and Linda. She, for one reason or another, felt it was her responsibility to look out for Matt’s happiness and safety.

Mello was good to Matt. That is, he grew into a person that was good for Matt. One day, after hitting Matt out of frustration about rankings, he’d burst into tears and begged for his forgiveness. It was kind of funny to Linda because _Matt_ ended up having to comfort _Mello_ as his cheek turned black and blue. Linda had, of course, punched Mello when she found out. She ended up dragging him to the chapel behind the House and tossing her rosary into his lap. They might have belonged to different denominations of Christianity, but Linda wasn’t about to let anyone, much less Mello, damn his soul on her watch.

Mello never hit Matt again.

* * *

 

An avid follower of the Kira case, Linda knew that things were going to blow up in Near’s and Mello’s faces sooner or later. That was her excuse for drawing the two of them, at least. When Mello and Near left Wammy’s, she gave Matt Mello’s picture, keeping Near’s folded up in her desk drawer.

When Matt left to find Mello, giving back the picture he would hopefully no longer need, Linda had never felt more alone. It wasn’t exactly loneliness, but it was still a horrible feeling. No matter how many people she talked to, Linda couldn’t help but feel isolated. It's not like she'd been great friends with Near, Matt, or, god forbid, Mello, but they were important. They made her feel alive. After they left, Wammy's House felt like France. France wasn’t home, and apparently that meant that Wammy’s House wasn’t either. Not anymore.

And that's why Linda left Wammy’s House a week after Matt.

She had a terrible headache and no idea of what she was going to do except draw, and then draw some more. And that was okay with her. 

She left for America with nothing but a backpack and fading memories scratching away at her skull.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, I know that Near's age doesn't match up with the release date of the first Ace Attorney game but I couldn't help myself. ;-;
> 
> I might write Mello next. I haven't had the chance to show him as anything but aggressive/competitive and it sucks because he's so much more than that.
> 
> Have a good night/morning/day.


	6. I Can't Bury This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mello is Mello, full of righteous fury and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite possibly nearly had a heart attack today. 0/10, would not recommend. :(
> 
> Anyway, I wrote Mello like I said I would. There likely won't be a continuation of this that focuses solely on him.
> 
> TW for descriptions of injuries.

Mello loved his home country. He loved the nature and the quiet, the discontent whispering of adults when he did “too well” in school. He also loved God and politics and justice. Mello even loved his parents, though he didn’t know a thing about them. The point was, Mello loved his life passionately and intensely despite its flaws. So when Wammy decided to take him away to Wammy’s House, he didn’t go without protest. But he knew, somewhere inside him, that running away from a person like Quillish Wammy was not possible.

 

* * *

 

Mello took to acts of rebellion to show his displeasure. He isolated himself, he was aggressive and rude, and refused to speak English. He studied as religiously as he prayed, but made sure to fail every class they forced him to take. He would not go down and submit to Wammy’s will without a fight.

Or so he thought. On a day like any other, he was pulled out of class and brought to Roger’s office, scowling and grunting and slapping people’s guiding hands off his shoulders. Inside that room was the only person capable of convincing him to do anything.

L.

* * *

 

Life at Wammy’s became more difficult after that encounter. The pressure put on him was… Ridiculous. But that didn’t matter to Mello. All he cared about was winning, solving cold cases, and upholding justice as the next L; it was truly odd that just several months after meeting L, he could have changed and grown so much.

But what truly bothered Mello was a little, white haired kid who only spoke to disagree with him. Humoring Near was equally entertaining and aggravating. Still, it was a large enough motivator for Mello to learn sign language. When both he and Near became proficient, they took to silently belittling each other whenever the material they were learning was too dull.

 

* * *

 

Mello met Matt on a disgustingly hot summer morning. Three English people had already died from heat stroke by the time Mello went searching through closets for a fan. Instead of finding a fan, Mello found Matt that day. He was curled up in a particularly roomy maintenance closet on the second floor. It turned out that Matt had passed out there after “forgetting” to take his sleeping pills for three days in a row. After Mello’s disoriented mind processed the information, he accidentally slammed the closet door shut on his own fingers. Matt had proceeded to screech and run Mello to the infirmary. He’d broken three fingers.

 

* * *

 

Contrary to popular belief, Mello never raised a hand against Near. Sure, Mello didn’t exactly love the little brat, but it wasn't like he didn’t hated him just for having been born a genius. His goal was to beat Near academically, not traumatize him.

Mello did occasionally get into fights, though. Arguments with Matt about one little thing or another, debates with Near about the validity of certain concepts and theories, especially those in criminology. Even actual fights with other Wammy's kids. The ones he participated in were well thought out - most of the time.

People like Near and Matt were oblivious or indifferent to those who did not interest them, and so were mostly unaware of the kids who talked shit about them behind their backs. Mello, however, was not as passive. He spent many afternoons nursing bruised knuckles, dislocated shoulders, and wounded egos. It was all because loved Matt, resented Near, and loathed injustice. He chose to protect his friend and his rival from envious assholes because Mello wasn’t Mello if he wasn’t doing _something_  rash and overprotective. Mello couldn’t let himself be lulled into complacency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ?? I'm not all that satisfied with this. I might end up rewriting it at some point.
> 
> Have a nice day/night!!


	7. You Are What You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have nothing, but Mello has you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I would stop with the tragic pasts but naaaah. I love Matt and I love second person POV so I have to give him a fucked up life. #logic
> 
> By the way, I typed all of this out on my iPad so it might have a few punctuation errors I didn't catch.
> 
> TW for implied childhood sexual abuse, the q*eer slur, animal death, religion (Christianity), self harm, injury, and poor self image/esteem.

He calls you a genius and takes you away to some strange fusion of orphanage and school.

The staff there give you a new name and tell you you have a responsibility to the world. It makes you think back to last week when some shitty businessman pushed you off your skateboard and into traffic. You kissed the pavement and broke your nose. The city muffled the sound of your crying as you trudged back to your dad's apartment. You thought through your choices and moments later found yourself in a park bathroom, setting your nose back into place on a dirty toilet seat.

Your only responsibilities last week were to quietly take care of your nose and keep the smell of your hazy-eyed friend's weed off your clothes.

* * *

You can see the stars from your room's window at Wammy's. It reminds you of the summer nights you used to spend huddled over your DS in front of the A/C in your mother's house. Your mother's new piece of shit spent whole nights crying. All you could do to keep yourself from screaming was turn up the volume and stare at tiny pixelated skies dotted with yellow and gray. The steady beat of the 2 AM music was your favorite.

* * *

Some days, Mello takes you to church with him. Since it's rare for an actual priest to be invited to Wammy's to hold a service, it's usually just you, Mello, and whatever poor kids think they can fuck in private there that week. Mello just ignores those kids. They're probably too sinful for him to even want to reprimand them. He's afraid of catching whatever disease turned them into such deviants. It makes you wonder why Mello hangs out with you, a creepy little queer who likes to slit his wrists and had daddy's -

It's laughable that a person as perfect as Mello would choose _you_ , an unmotivated bastard that can't even get out of bed sometimes. 

You don't even believe in God, but when Mello takes you to church, you pray. You pray to God so that one day, you will be worthy of Mello's attention. 

* * *

 

At night, after Mello finishes studying and pulls you off the window seat and into your bed, you stare at the grainy ceiling. You stare and you stare and you stare. You think about your half brother and your old neighborhood's cute resident stray cat and how you watched it get shot in the head.

If you're not asleep by a certain time, Mello crawls into your bed and gently thumps your head. _If you don't get enough sleep you won't be able to hack the Pentagon tomorrow. Who's going to replace all the personnel files with the Bee Movie script if you don't?_

You just snort and cuddle up to him, fearing the day he decides to push you away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages and the nature of Matt and Mello's relationship are up for interpretation. The only thing that is 100% not possible is that their relationship is sexual because.  
> Just n o.
> 
> If anybody has any prompts or requests, let me know. Otherwise I have roughly two chapters/stories to go before I'm done.
> 
> See you tomorrow!


	8. Wammy's House in Imagery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seasons come and go, but traditions stay the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot different from the previous stories/chapters. Instead of trying to capture the life of a character, I wanted to show life at Wammy's (the good and the bad) in general. I did this with imagery. Mostly. It's only real unifying point is that experiences are categorized by season. 
> 
> Just a warning: proper grammar doesn't exist here.
> 
> TW for mentions of death, mentions of gore, emetophobia, grossness in general, illness, counseling, and hospitalization.

Wammy’s House in the summer:

Opening and closing doors, heavy sighs, paper fans, popsicles dripping on small hands, cold drinks spilled onto common room carpets, the first movement of Moonlight Sonata echoing through halls with no destination or origin.

The smell of ethnic foods cooked by the request of big and small voices, Roger yelling at Wammy, Wammy yelling at Roger - _They cannot be held to the same standards as “normal” people!_ \- humming A/C’s, diving into unpolluted ponds, crying in the nurse's office, blood and urine stained sheets, disgust.

Clicking and clacking of computer keys, sweat, musty attics, the bunny hiding beneath the floorboards, class debates sung in screams, guilt, guilt, guilt, hyper focused pre-teens tending B’s old garden, killing invasive plants (killing A.)

Wammy’s House in the fall:

Ghost stories by candle light, prohibited bonfires, fishing frenzies, quiet nights spent locked away in rooms, whispered secrets, new therapists, medication, preparation for seasonal depression, field trips to town, new game releases, new book releases, thousands of dollars spent replacing old lab equipment, the heavy stench of restricted chemicals, Uranium. Breaking thermometers and playing with the mercury.

Culture shock, a hundred languages, condescending adults, new interns, new classes, new semester, independent research gone wrong, communal midnight snacks, hiding in the library, hot tea overflowing and spilling onto meticulous hand written essays, secret messages, truancy, sweaters too big, pants too long.

Imitation, L’s visits, L’s talks, L’s lectures, L, just L, just L’s everything.

Sock clad feet, anonymity, mysteries, locked rooms, corpses, cold cases, panic attacks, atheism, witchcraft, laughter in the face of fear. Dancing in the rain, sliding down polished floors, shrieking in joy and jumping into piles of crunchy leaves, first times, petty crimes ending with no punishments, felonies ending with lectures, mourning and death anniversaries. Days of the Dead, pumpkin pie for breakfast, dinner, supper, grief counselors stumped and chased away.

Catharsis.

Wammy’s House in the winter:

 

Hollow laughter drifting to the ceiling,  perpetual illness, waving boxes of tissues like flags of surrender, the permanent smell of fear as graduation approaches, interns quitting from the stress, heavy quilts, thick clothing, kids that look like marshmallows rolling around in the snow.

Mugs filled with eggnog and drops of contraband whiskey, the Mexican kids who always make enough Champurrado for all the kids, staff, teachers, administration, and chefs (not an easy feat),  hours “wasted” hovering over light boxes, holidays celebrated in secret, stepping into your shoes and finding a toy or a gift card or a letter, making out on the roof, accidentally killing your pet robot, setting fireworks off right next to Roger’s office window.

Hospitalization under false names, realizing your future is up to you, enjoying looking at gore in criminology class, big dinners, Doctor Who specials, sleeping in front of the fireplace, resting cold feet against the outdated radiator, snuggling on your roommate’s bed when the furnace breaks.

Kids that run away and come back, kids that run away and turn up dead, kids that run away and stay away.  

Wammy’s House in the spring:

Loud allergies, sniffling, new assistive devices, name changes, spring cleaning, bi-yearly check ups, new contact and glasses and hearing aid prescriptions, hiding from bees, picking flowers from the forest, eating poisonous berries like it's nothing, cleaning graves, trips to different countries, career and college counseling, light filtering in through colored glass. More new kids, emphasis on rankings, throwing up because of letters, week long storms and showers followed by sun and rainbows. The smell of dust right before an old book is found behind a couch.

Awakening, aging, changing, the baby blossoms unfurling on trees, the smell of paint when Wammy gives the kids permission to paint a mural, cleaning for all five floors, uncertainty, graduating with or without a letter, graduating as a success or failure. Moving out. Starting over in a kinder place.

Identity crises, online clothes shopping, coming out over and over before hopping onto a cafeteria table and announcing it to anyone and everyone who cares to hear, craving ice cream in cold weather, having Roger deny everyone ice cream, picnics in the front yard, flying kites that later get stuck in the forest canopies, vaguely blogging about life at Wammy’s with an audience of five thousand, finding out your parents are still alive.

Watching friends burn out, crying behind the old wooden shed in the backyard, fighting over the swings with five year olds. Therapy dog visits, hiding parrots in the broken bathroom on the third floor, communicating with notes stuck to a bulletin board in the dumbwaiter no one ever uses anymore.

The realization that time is an illusion, the realization that this is okay.

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I snuck in a few nods to my friend's and my cultures just because! 
> 
> Some things are very general because I think it's important to not treat Wammy's kids like aliens. Sure, they're genii, but they're also /kids./ Actually that reminds me of an essay someone wrote about gifted kids: http://shu-of-the-wind.tumblr.com/post/16105564460/an-issue-in-sherlock-that-annoys-me-and-why 
> 
> It talks a lot about giftedness in the context of the show Sherlock, but I agree with the author's overall ideas about giftedness, both in terms of fictional characters and in terms of my friends and I. (Yep, I was one of the kids who got that label.) Some of it comes off as a bit ableist to me, though, so if you're interested in reading it, please read critically.
> 
> Have a nice day/night!


	9. Better Heads Need Shut Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just a nightmare, love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Yuutousei.
> 
> Title is from the lyrics of Shut Eye by Stealing Sheep.
> 
> TW for gore, animal death, suicide baiting, and cutting.
> 
> Edit: Jesus I made a lot of typos. Very sorry.
> 
> Edit 2: Fixed more typos when I woke up... ( I forgot I was using they pronouns for A, so when it came to changing them from he/him to they/them, I forgot to correct words like "was" to "were.")

It had been an unusually uneventful day. The class that had reign of the chem lab had only set off two explosions, and the feud between the two Eastern Literature classes had been resolved. By Wammy’s House standards, it was all one, huge miracle.

A hummed as they made their way to the dumbwaiter, mentally preparing themself for the porn and dick drawings that had surely been tacked onto the bulletin board hidden within it. It was an everyday occurrence. One had to dig through it all to get to the scraps of lined and checkered paper that had actual messages on them.

As usual, the second A lifted the creeky door open, they swooped down and ripped off any inappropriate content. However, once they got to the bottom, they found a rather grotesque present.

A was used to the bullying, the ostracization, the loneliness of being number one. He was used to the gorey shit B liked to watch on TV, the snuff films he left playing on his laptop after running off to the bathroom, even the occasional dissected cat laying on the outskirts of the forest. They were used to the cruelty of human beings. But _this..._

This was just a mason jar stuffed full of mice. A couldn't decide whether they were appalled or fascinated. They weren't able to tell if the mice were dead or alive or _what,_ but the note tacked onto the jar’s lid distracted them from figuring it out anyway. It was just a white square of paper that said “Happy Birthday A” with tiny hearts scrawled around the A.

“Do you like it?” a voice said sweetly behind them. A turned around, nearly dropping the jar they held in their hands. B. It was B’s present. Why?

“Huh. No, not really. It was a nice thought, I suppose. Let me give you a list of things I like next time; you can do better than an ambiguous jar of mice,” A said, glancing around them. B wasn’t usually that awful at giving presents, was he? Last year, A received the first journal B bound after learning how to bind books. Even the year before that, all he had given A was a relatively mediocre scarf he knitted. It had a little bird stitched on one corner.

“But you won’t be here next year, A.” The hallway seemed to melt away like ice cream. “You’ll be dead. You’re too weak.” B said it simply, no malice in his voice or expression. A couldn’t make themself move. They were in A’s and B’s room. An empty noose was suspended from the ceiling.

“Hey now, don’t look so sad!” B brushed his fingers against A’s cheek, a compassionate look on his face. “It’s not your fault. You’re just not good enough. You just don’t deserve to be here, y’know? But that’s okay! Don’t cry! It will all be over soon.” He stepped away and nodded at the noose. “You can end it now. Just hang yourself or,” A's favorite box cutter appeared in B's hand, “cut a bit too deep. Your wrists aren’t getting any prettier, honey.” He laughed and shook his head in disapproval.

A glanced at their arms. The soft fabric of their sweater was becoming wetter and wetter. It took them a second because their hand seemed see-through, but A managed to push one sleeve up to evaluate the damage. Blood was spurting out of a severed artery like water out of a fountain. A felt nothing. Their vision got blurry and A wondered if they were even breathing. It didn't feel like they were.  So much blood, so much blood, so much blood, _so much_.

A passed out.

Seconds later, A’s eyes flew open. They were sitting in bed, B snoring a few feet away. The little clock on their table read 2:21 AM in an ugly neon green. A watched, frozen, as a deer ran past their window. It took a few minutes of nothing before they could move. They checked their arms, the ceiling, and the ground before calling B from across the room.

“Wake up, dickhead.” A lazily threw a pillow at B’s head and leaned against their headboard.

“What the fuck - what do you want from me?” B moaned and twisted around to face A. Their face was hidden in their hands. Whatever they mumbled didn’t reach B’s ears.”What?” He groaned and rolled out of bed. He padded across the cold floor and draped himself over A like a giant cat. He even headbutted them. “C’mon. I’m going back to sleep if you don’t say anything.”

“Am I going to die next year?” A said softly, moving their hands so they wouldn’t cover their mouth.

B snorted. “Why would I tell you that?” He moved off of A to grab their pillows before plopping back down and pushing A against the wall, making space for himself.

“I don’t want to die.” B snorted and shook his head. Just like in the dream. It made A feel guilty, but they pushed it away in favor of laying down, staring at B as if their eyes could prove that they were telling the truth.

B buried himself under the blankets, hiding everything but a small tuft of hair. “Then stop cutting and I’ll tell you.”

“No.”

“Then I won’t tell you.” B hesitantly grabbed A’s hand under the covers. A felt like it was turning transparent again. Maybe it was. Maybe B's was too.

“Fine.” The heavy silence lulled them back to sleep, still gripping onto each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. Unless anyone has another request, there will be one more chapter and then this collection will be done.
> 
> Good night/day.


	10. So Guess What Happened Today?! ;;D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt gets drugged, Near likes rewiring classroom lighting, and Mello is as proud as a peacock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Yuutousei.
> 
> Please don't take this too seriously.
> 
> TW for drug use and medical procedures.

It was raining. The smell of wet dirt and dust filled the whole house, and the sounds of sluggish footsteps were beginning to fill the halls just as they always did on school mornings. There was a quiet, fragile sort of peace blanketing Wammy’s House.

At least until Mello woke up. His alarm clock was set to an ear-piercing screech that made Matt fall out of bed, Game Boy in tow. Mello laughed, Matt pouted, and they got ready to head downstairs.

 

* * *

 

The cafeteria was a potential danger zone in the afternoon, but Near found that breakfast time was a relatively pleasent time to eat without being bothered. Near walked up to the counter to order his food (a bowl of Weet-bix cereal with skim milk and strawberries and a cup of toasted mate tea) before sitting down at his usual table in the corner of the room, his plastic robot sitting on his left. This was his time to people watch. Some found it unnerving, but to him, it was a great way to test his observational skills and wake up in the morning.

For example, the way Linda leaned against the counter indicated what might have been developing into chronic back pain, and Mello’s slight cringe when he took a sip of black coffee was a sign of hidden disgust. Mello hated coffee, but believed that drinking it made him look more mature. Matt displayed no such pretenses, however. He crinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue when Mello asked him if he wanted any.

Linda gracefully sat down next to Near, only giving him a nod before returning to calculating expenses in her notebook. That was the nice thing about Linda. She had her own life, her own hobbies and preoccupations. She never bothered to make small talk or gossip. Linda's investment in her own life might have been seen as selfish or self absorbed by outsiders like their so-called caretakers, but her acquaintances knew better. Everything she did was a gesture of dedication.

Near finished his breakfast, content with the silence.

 

* * *

 

Each semester, the children of Wammy’s House went through a catalog, and each of them picked a minimum of four classes from it. Kids in the top ten had to have at least two classes that focused on skills required to be the next L. Mello always overloaded on classes, but Matt never took more than four. Part of the reason for that was class rivalry. As the semester progressed, classes formed allegiances with some classes and waged mini wars against others. A couple semesters ago, the rivalry had made life absolutely awful on that front. His robotics class had teamed up with an Artificial Intelligence class, and together they made a near life size Transformer. It ended up being a sports car roughly half the size of the average vehicle, and could change into a Transformer robot look-a-like that shot fireworks out of the palms of its hands.

His robot won against the nuclear physics class that allied itself with Mello's firearm class, and the victory felt great for a little while. It was incredible until it turned out that some douche named F brought a real gun to a firework fight and killed his brainchild. _His baby!_ They killed Matt's precious love child with technology, the one he had spent so many sleepless nights slaving away at! Needless to say, he didn't want to risk something like that happening again, so he started taking less classes and staying out of the way of any competitions. It wasn't that great of a loss anyway, Matt preferred independent study.

So as much as he hated the looks of disapproval sent his way whenever Mello and Matt compared schedules, and the slight emptiness he felt when he saw other kids working on theoretically harmless weaponry, he knew it was for the better. Taking part was just too much.

 

* * *

 

 

For the semester, Matt, Mello, Linda, and Near's first class was a profiling lecture. A retired FBI agent drawled on and on about topics they had already covered in other classes, pacing up and down in front of the classroom. Linda had the right idea when she decided to skip this class. Even Near was bored - he had actually left the room without being noticed and made himself busy by rewiring the classroom’s lighting. Mello, who wanted to stay on the old guy's good side, remained silent in his seat. Still, he’d inconspicuously stolen Near’s Legos off of his desk and was busy constructing a tiny model of the space shuttle Atlantis. To his right, Matt was obnoxiously pounding away at the keys of his flip phone with a frightening look on his face. However, about fifty minutes into class, he passed out on his desk for no apparent reason. Mello made a small sound in the back of his throat and discretely noted down Matt’s pulse.

Roughly half way through class, the lights went out. Everyone sighed or cheered in relief and the lecturer dismissed them in his drawling, unhappy voice. The students even managed to get outside before he got a chance to assign homework. It was glorious.

“Did you wipe your fingerprints?” Mello asked Near skeptically, carrying a sleeping Matt on his back. “I know you didn’t last time.” Near cringed. He had pulled the fire alarm, and in his hurry to get away from the distressing noise it was making, forgotten to wipe away the evidence. But when Roger checked the cameras and dusted for prints, he found nothing because of Matt and Mello’s ‘Okay-Thanks-I-Guess’ plan.

“Yes,” Near said honestly. The two of them worked together to get Matt to the library. As uncomfortable as their relationship was, they both cared about the lazy little shit. “Why did you drug him anyway?” Near asked. It was weird. Mello wouldn’t usually sabotage him like this. Was it a prank? Was Matt ill?

“It’s for a partner project on the impact of drugs most commonly used by criminals. He volunteered to be the test subject.” Upon getting Matt in a chair, Mello began poking and prodding him for data to add to his notes. “We’ve been working on this for the past two weeks or so. It's due next period, I’m surprised you didn’t notice this before now.”

“I noticed, just chose not to ask - _why_ is there a peacock here?” A white, male, peacock with its tail feathers spread up into the air walked out from between a row of shelves. It took no notice of the two startled boys and continued to strut its way between tables, cooing and squawking at nothing in particular.

“I’ll get Roger,” Mello groaned mournfully.

 

* * *

 

After waking up and listening to Mello’s epic tale of 'Near and the Peacock,' Matt and Mello made their way to their next class. Although they got a 100 on their project, Matt was too fucked up by the drugs to feel much of anything about getting a perfect score. After complimenting them for their extensive efforts, the teacher made Mello take Matt to the nurse’s office to get his stomach pumped.

 

* * *

 

After finishing his classes, Near went to check up on Mello and Matt in the infirmary.

“How do you feel, Matt?” Near said. Matt looked terrible. He was shaking and had Mello sitting on his shins, laptop in his lap so that he could do some school work while watching over his friend.

Matt made several gurgling sounds around the tube in his mouth and gave an enthusiastic thumbs up in Near’s general direction.

“Good,” Near choked out, covering his smile with his hand.

“Near, if you don’t need anything, leave,” Mello said without looking up. Matt made a sad gurgling sound that made Near giggle.

“Holy shit,” Mello looked up from his laptop in astonishment. “Did you-did you just _giggle_?”

“No.” Near was straight faced once more, tugging at a curl of hair and leaving. Matt gurggled once more, probably trying to make a contemplative humming sound, and stealthily slid Mello’s laptop out of his grip. He began writing a new blog post titled ‘So Guess What Happened Today?! ;;D.’ His readers were going to _love_ this.

 

 ****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> n8 y r u so serious u lil troublemaker
> 
> If you're wondering why I stopped right there, it's because that is /literally going to be Matt and Mello's whole day./ According to the internet, when you get your stomach pumped, they typically make you stay overnight for observation, and it's not like Mello would leave Matt's side after something like this happened.
> 
>  
> 
> By the way, quick question: I kind of have an idea for a Wammy's House story with a couple of my OC's as protagonists. Would anyone have a problem with that being a part of this series? Please be honest, I won't hold it against anyone if they say they do. :) 
> 
> Tomorrow will be kairis's request. See you then!


	11. Flickers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tradition, which seemed so suffocating before, made much more sense to those who grew up at Wammy's House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For kairis.
> 
> When my teachers ask me what I did this summer, I'm just going to say I researched European snow fall for a writing project lmao.
> 
> TW for religion.

Winchester winters were warmer than those in Ljubljana, and there was much less snow fall. Mello hated it. Even though he had already lived at Wammy’s for years and years, even though Wammy’s felt warm and safe and _homely_ , Mello couldn’t forget his life before all of the 'you will be great'’s and 'the world needs you to uphold justice'’s. It felt wrong to forget, so he clung onto his memories of home like a dying man.

He could be great and homesick at the same time.

 

* * *

 

Winter celebrations varied from year to year, but generally began as early as October or November. Wammy’s ethnic hotpot meant that Roger and Wammy had to be flexible. Instead of taking charge, they let the kids decorate each year. As troubling as the idea of 200 kids running around and ordering copious amounts of decorations was, it usually turned out well.

The halls and rooms were quickly filled with art, Menorahs, kinaras, handmade decorative cloth, beautiful clay lamps, towering pine trees, and the overwhelming smell of food. Sure, it was hectic, and the decorating wasn't quite on par with that of adults, but that wasn't the point. It was a time for the children and teens of Wammy’s House to express their ideas about what winter holidays should be. 

 

* * *

 

Back in Ljubljana, Mello lived in another orphanage. It was small, strict, and Christian. Mello thought that it taught him several important lessons over the years. One of them was how to get by with very little money. Living in poverty was difficult, and a lot of the time, there just wasn't enough food to go around. Mello went to bed hungry so that the younger children didn't have to. Even on Christmas Eve, his portions were tiny and were made tinier still when he decided to share what little he had with his friends.

After dinner, he would sneak past the nuns and run to the bakery, where he used all of the spare change he collected over the year to buy as much bread as he could possibly afford and run back, past the dimly lit houses and shops, past the shallow, winding river next to the church, and into his home where his room mates awaited his return, ready to exchange gifts.

 

* * *

 

 

Mello wouldn’t admit it if anyone asked him, but his favorite holiday had to be Diwali. For five days in November, Mello and Matt could go to the House's front yard in the evening and observe the Hindu kids pray, light diyas, and set off fireworks. Mello didn’t understand what it was about Diwali that entranced him, but he could never pull his eyes away. Something about it all made Wammy’s House feel a little less alien.

 

* * *

 

Matt was really quiet in the way he celebrated his heritage. He didn’t bother decorating unless Mello enlisted his help, and he told everyone not to give him presents (not that Mello listened). But every sixth of December, Mello woke up and found something small in his shoe. Sometimes it was chocolate or some other extravagant sweet, but every few years, it was something a bit bigger; to date, the bigger items he’d received were a stuffed dog,  a chess set, and a photo album filled with his favorite locations in Ljubljana. Mello had actually openly cried when he received the last one.

When Matt woke up, he would whisper some words in his native language and grudgingly  receive his own present from Mello. It wasn't a big deal, but it was a tradition Mello wouldn’t trade for anything. Not even a plane ticket back to Slovenia.

 

* * *

 

In December, there were no Saturday classes. Some took that as a chance to catch up on sleep or studying, and there was really no set schedule, but it was a well known fact that every other Saturday morning, no one could leave the cafeteria without a cup of Champurrado. Nobody knew how the tradition started, but it was there, and no one complained. There were even hypoallergenic versions, and five flavors to choose from. If nothing else, nobody could deny that the Wammy’s kids were innovators.  

 

* * *

 

On Christmas Eve, anyone who wanted to go was invited to a large dinner of Christmas food from all over the world. Many kids, even atheists like Matt and agnostics like Near, ended up coming. It was an almost chaotic event. Cultures clashed as kids from all over did their best to honor their heritage. It was a little sad to Mello. After losing all of their connections, all of the people who enforced traditions like these in the first place, these children were desperate to hang onto any shred that reminded them that they once had a home where culture was vital to keeping family and friends unified. Mello knew that he was no different from them.

After dinner, Mello and Matt would go back to their room, where a more personal tradition awaited them. They would spread their comforters and pillows out onto the floor in front of the radiator and one of the bigger windows. Mello knew that Matt did it for Mello's sake more than his own, but all they would do was lay there, talking about where they came from and what it meant to them. When the conversation got too heavy, and an awkward silence overtook them, Matt would take the initiative and talk about constellations, even if the sky was too cloudy for anything to be seen.

 

* * *

 

Even after leaving Wammy’s, there was one Christmas Eve that Mello would never forget. The dinner itself was the same as always - loud kids with big mouths, a constant stream of words and prayers in more than a few languages, and some uncomfortable people who were there for their friends or the food more than anything. It was all rather routine until Matt scrambled up from his seat, dropping a spoonful of Kutia on the tablecloth and pulling Mello with him.

It was the first snow of the year. It was very light and melted the second it hit the ground, but it was something.

“I checked the weather report for Ljubljana today,” Mello whispered in awe.

“Yeah?” Matt said, gaping through the window. He was just as entranced by the contrast of sparkling water crystals with the darkness of night as Mello was.

“It said it was snowing there too.” That was the first and last time a coincidence as kind as that occurred for Mello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, baby Mello suffering. I hope you like it! (If you find any typos, I'm sorry. ;-; I'm too tired to see them. I'll go back and check for them in the morning,)
> 
> A+ for anyone who can figure out Matt's country of origin in this chapter.
> 
> Since you guys are okay with it, the next chapter will be about some OC's! I might not upload it tomorrow because I'm going out with a friend, but if it doesn't come out tomorrow, it will come out the day after. See ya then!


	12. No Big Surprise It Turned Out This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is overwhelming, and they feel so small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to see The Vatican Tapes with my lovely QPP yesterday, and let me just tell you, that movie is so bad it's funny. It's my new movie to watch when I feel sad.
> 
> But anyway, we're finally on the last part of Invasive Species. When I started writing this, I honestly didn't expect anything to come out of it. I was just stressed out by the fact I had to fulfill all of these arbitrary little requirements so I could graduate early and wanted to put all of that energy somewhere. I didn't expect to have such kind, dedicated readers or even the motivation to pull through and finish this fic. But here we are now! Twelve chapters and almost 10,000 words later, I have something I'm actually proud to have created after my long writing hiatus. 
> 
> So, here are my OC's, post Near-becomes-L.
> 
> TW for very mild gore-y imagery.

Uri was all pure, righteous, rage, unconstrained by society’s ideas of right and wrong. Justice can be achieved in many ways, and one doesn’t have to actually believe it exists in order to enforce the ideals behind it. There was a time when Uri believed differently, but that was a time before Kira, a time when she could afford to be optimistic and free.

There are only so many ways to fight an omniscient mass murderer. And that’s all he was - he was another Stalin, Mussolini, Pot - nobody that wouldn’t eventually sink away and become a scar on the face of human history, leaving survivors to pass on their stories to generations that would never truly grasp the gravity of what was done.

Uri refused to become a victim of circumstance or a "survivor" and people noticed, governments noticed. She got disowned for refusing to practice complacence because, at the time, parenting a hacktivist was the same as parenting a serial killer or rapist. Her parents were ashamed of her, and she was ashamed of her parents.

_Good fucking riddance._

Wammy’s was a haven because everyone understood: you can’t be a bystander and think that none of the blame falls on you. Wammy’s didn’t like cowards, and Uri was anything but. She adapted and aimed higher when the opportunity presented itself. She would be the next L if it’s the last fucking thing she did.

* * *

Then there was Casius. Small, dainty, fluffy brown hair, ocean blue eyes, and an IQ of 256. Childish as hell, and so, so, innocent. Xe was the love of her life and the bane of her existence. Casius was a white hat hacker, number one in the House, and completely, and utterly, two faced.

The adults of Wammy’s House knew Casius as a perfect angel, one that slept with a mountain of stuffed animals and had trouble taking care of xemself (that’s what staff was for), but people like Uri, who managed to penetrate the invisible walls surrounding xem saw Casius from what xe really was.

Casius was creepy and faraway, and xe felt so very old. You could look into xyr eyes and see the truth and the stars and a void where opinions should be. Uri wanted to ask ‘who hurt you?’ but knew that was a ridiculous question. The whole world hurt xem, rubbed xyr skin away and clawed out any humanity left underneath it, stabbed xem with needles and pumped them full of a little something called apathy. Xe had a dark humor and no hope for the future and it reminded Uri of the stories kids told about the prototype-successors.

Uri often caught herself daydreaming of a different world where little _gajin_ Casius would come to Japan and learned human cruelty just a little bit slower. Maybe then a piece of xem could be saved and preserved from the clinical poking of adults who honestly just didn’t know any better.

* * *

Casius already had someone to fight from xem, though. A bouncy blind boy with fire in his eyes and the whole world in his hands. He knew law and Casius better than he knew himself. People would tell him “Ainsley, you should let go of Casius and find someone more on your level.” They would never understand that Casius and Ainsley were perfect for each other because they were so different. They were two defective puzzle pieces that were never meant to fit into a bigger picture. They had to be sanded down and glued into place in the very center so they wouldn’t mess up the overall image. Somehow, they still manage to pop out and wreak havoc, confounding those around them.

* * *

 Uri feels like all she can do is watch, watch as L stops Kira, watch as Casius molds xemself into something xe is not for the sake of being number one, watch as Ainsley becomes a wall of steel, untouchable, powerful, the perfect defense, watch as life passes her by and warps everything she cares about.

Casius just laughs in her face as if xe knows something Uri doesn’t. Xe probably does, but Uri doesn’t bother asking what. She boops xem on the nose and weaves flowers into xyr hair and xyr hearing aids and overalls and shoes and knows that this is what life has to offer. Quiet summer days spent side by side with Casius as Ainsley’s fingers braid her hair and tickle her neck like feathers. It feels so human that sometimes Uri can’t accept it as reality, but the cicadas are so loud here that she feels she really has no choice. Ainsley’s laugh is too real and Casius’s voice is too melodic, even when xe acts like a fool, singing _Wonderwall_ or screaming.

The sun is too bright and too hot on Uri’s skin and bleach-blond hair for her to deny that this is her life now.

_\- Fin -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notes:
> 
> 1.) In chapter 11, Matt is from Poland! It's okay if you got it wrong, I only gave two very vague clues: St. Nicholas Day (the fact that Matt typically put the presents in Mello's shoes) and Kutia, which is actually a traditional Christmas Eve food in a number of European countries. 
> 
> 2.) My friend Siren and I talked, and she is considering writing Matt's blog post from chapter 10! If she writes it, I will put it in as chapter 13. :)
> 
> 3.) I might have another Death Note writing project in mind, this time about Light and L or Near and the SPK. I'm not too sure, but thought you guys might want to know. 
> 
> 4.) Thank you so much for reading! You guys were instrumental to making these stories and I couldn't have asked for better readers to share my work with.


End file.
